Rabbit-Heart
by Barnswallow13
Summary: Fear is a powerful emotion. It can make you run faster, jump higher, and sharpens your senses. However, it can also paralyze you. Fear can stop all rational thought, and that will most definitely get you killed if you can't learn to overcome it. All of this was running through my mind as I tried desperately to stave off a panic attack after being kidnapped by aliens.
1. Discovery

**AN: See my profile for background information and the update schedule for this story as well as my review policies.**

* * *

 _Here I am,  
A rabbit-hearted girl,  
Frozen in the headlights.  
It seems I've made,  
The final sacrifice._

\- Florence and the Machine, "Rabbit-Heart/Raise it Up"

* * *

It was five o'clock at my house, and that meant that the TV was on while my parents caught up on the happenings throughout the country. Grimacing, I turned the volume on my iPod up again in attempt to drown out the news anchors. I almost wished that they'd just read newspapers instead of watching Fox or MSNBC. It'd be quieter anyway. Something that I would have greatly appreciated since I was trying to solve a particularly tricky algebra problem.

The more I tried to chip away at it, the more frustrated I got. My work wasn't coming out, and I wasn't sure what to do next. I kept checking the back of the book to see if my answer was correct, but kept coming up wrong. And I didn't know why. I used the method outlined in my DIVE program. I _should_ have been getting the right answer! A lump formed in my throat and tears of frustration threatened to spill. Annoyed at myself, I shoved them back.

 _Oh, come on, Natasha,_ I told myself scathingly. _It's just a math problem. There's no need to get so worked up._

 _But I have so much_ other _stuff that needs to get done!_ I answered myself.

Too much to do, and not enough time to do it. That's what this was really about. I was so overwhelmed with the amount of schoolwork that needed doing. This in addition to making sure that my horse, a black Arabian gelding named Shasta, had adequate care and exercise. I needed to go out and clean his stall tonight, but I couldn't go until my homework was done. I hadn't been able to get out there yesterday, and I knew that Shasta's stall was going to be a huge mess. It would probably take me a good hour to clean it out. I'd need another two hours to ride him, taking into account the time it took to tack him up beforehand and clean him off afterwards.

 _Come on, Natasha. Focus._

Shaking thoughts of my horse out of my head, I returned my attention to the problem at hand. I picked up my pencil and tried again. In the background, a report on a murder in Tennessee cut through "Fuego" by the band Bond and threatened to break my concentration. I found myself listening to the report rather than thinking about the numbers in the equations. It was hard to keep my attention on the problem. Letting out a sigh and fighting another lump in my throat, I all but threw down my pencil when my answer came up the same as last time. Still wrong.

I couldn't do this. I was too worked up. I needed a break.

Knowing that the temperature was actually nice today, I decided to go for a walk. Maybe I could get my mind back on track that way. It certainly would help stabilize my emotions. I pulled out my earbuds and shut off my iPod. Pushing my rolling chair away from my desk, I turned my back on my math homework and went searching for a jacket. I knew there was one somewhere in this mess.

I don't bother with keeping my room clean during the school year. There are more important things that need doing. Putting my clothes away or dusting my dresser is a lot lower on my priorities than completing the day's assignments or taking care of Shasta. As a result, things tend to pile up on my floor. There's a complicated route of tiny clear spaces that I use to get from my bed to my desk and to my bedroom door. A couple of laundry baskets are usually present, tucked away at the foot of my bed, usually. Clothes are strewn across the floor to prevent papers from blowing around in the middle of the night. (I sleep with a box fan because otherwise I would wake up when my mother does: 7 am. She's not exactly very good at being quiet.)

Carefully stepping across several shirts and some jeans that were most likely dirty, I started digging through the only laundry basket present. The pile of clothes inside were folded at one point, but they've all become tangled together after sitting in my room for a few days. Pawing through the mass of shirts, jeans, socks, and underwear, I finally start pulling items from the basket. It takes me about five minutes to locate one of my non-barn jackets. With the object found, I unceremoniously gather the heap of removed clothing and dump it back in the basket.

I pulled the hoodie over my head and snagged a pair of socks. It took me another few minutes to locate my shoes amid the conglomeration of things on my floor. Lacing them up, I got to my feet and double-checked my pockets. Pocket knife and keys in the left? Yup. Cell phone in the right? Yup.

Following the route to my door, I pulled it open, only slightly increasing the volume of the TV. My house has a very open floor plan. The family room opens to the second story via a balcony rail. It's nice for when you need a roll of toilet paper because you can just toss it up, but it really carries sound. My room is just past the stairs, meaning that I can hear everything that goes on downstairs, even with my door closed. It's a nightmare when trying to get any homework done, and it makes it extremely hard for me to concentrate on anything.

I stepped up to the balcony rail and looked down into the family room. The entertainment center which houses our TV sits on the wall to the left, a massive wooden beast containing multiple cabinets full of movies. We have two couches, one almost right beneath me and one on the far right wall, facing the entertainment system. Our carpet is a dirty thing that was probably white at some point, but now is just a faded gray color. Dad's always complaining that we need to get it replaced. The walls are a dull off-white, though a couple of nature paintings attempt to liven up the room.

Both my parents were sitting on the couch facing the wood beast. I watched the news reports for a few minutes, waiting for a commercial break because I knew that if I started talking now, Mom would just shush me. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long.

"I'm going for a walk," I announced from my place on the balcony. Mom and Dad both looked up at me.

"Okay. Be careful," my mom called.

Without any further ado or acknowledgment, I turned and headed down the stairs and was out the front door before the first commercial ended. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I turned away from the house and started off across the front lawn. It was so much quieter out here than inside. And the air actually smelled alive. Completely unlike the stale, dead air in my house. Given the choice, I'd rather be outside all the time.

I started following the sidewalk up the hill to the left of my house, taking in the sights of the neighborhood and the sweet feeling in the air. I fell into a steady pace as I walked past numerous houses. Most are two stories, and have decently sized yards. There were a few lawnmowers going, but there weren't any kids outside. There are very few in this neighborhood. Most were in my sister Emma's generation. Those kids have either gone off to college or will be within the next year. Not that I really know any of them anyway. When we first moved here, we tried making friends with the few other kids here, but they always went inside when I or Emma came out. Eventually, we just gave up.

The smell of fresh-cut grass greeted me as I crested the top of the hill, and I could see piles of the stuff on the sidewalk ahead. The roar of a lawnmower grew louder as I approached, drowning out the birdsong. I waved politely at the man sitting on the mower, but didn't linger. I hated talking to people I didn't know, and while this guy might live just up the street from me, I had no idea who he was and had absolutely no intention of talking to him. Looking up at the sky, I squinted as I studied the cumulus clouds, loving the contrast of stark white and deep blue.

I continued past the street that led down to the Scott's house and into the section that we called the "New Neighborhood." It wasn't new, exactly. It had actually been there for a couple of years. Some company had started another connecting subdivision back here. They had the street paved and the appropriate piping and electrical stuff done, but then the housing market collapsed a couple years ago and no one's been here since. I stepped onto the blacktop and walked through the empty street. The wind whistled through my loose hair as I followed the road down the small hill. Fresh green grass rustled in the breeze. With the warm temperatures we'd been having recently, I knew that the summer heat couldn't be too far off.

About halfway down the hill, I stopped in puzzlement. Down in the second cul-de-sac was a big blue box. I cocked my head, staring at it for a moment. I'd never seen anything like this down here. Sure, the occasional car came through, but a random blue box? What the heck?

Decided to at least go take a look at it, I headed down the rest of the hill and made a right at the intersection. Normally, I would turn left and continue up into the neighborhood where my friend Teresa lived.

The box was rectangular and labeled as a "Police Public Call Box." Whatever that was. Its shape reminded me vaguely of a phone booth. There was a light at the very top of the Police Public Call Box, sitting on a gently sloping roof. Just below this was the labeling sign, black with back-lit white lettering. Two rectangular windows sat below the sign, divided into six equal rectangles of glass. I assumed that it was the same for every side of the box, though I could now easily see that I was approaching the front of it. There were handles and what looked like a lock as well as a sign on the left door. I couldn't make it out at this distance.

I frowned as I approached the box. The closer I got, the more I could hear this strange, pulsating hum. It started out so faint that I thought I was imagining it at first, but it was definitely there.

 _Weird,_ I thought. I stopped about three feet away from it and just listened for a moment. The sound was undoubtedly coming from the box. I also had this weird feeling, like there was someone else with me. Turning to look behind me, I confirmed that I was alone. No suspicious cars were parked nearby either. Looking back at the box, I raised an eyebrow, wondering just what this weird sound and the feeling were about. For one hair-raising moment, I could almost have imagined that the box was watching me.

Shaking my head and forcibly dispelling the feeling from my mind, I turned my attention to the sign on the left door.

Police Telephone  
Free  
For use of  
Public  
Advice & assistance  
Obtainable immediately  
Officers & cars  
Respond to all calls  
Pull to open

 _Huh,_ I thought, reading it. Cocking my head as I considered the strange object, I walked all the way around it. Reaching out a hand, I stroked the smooth painted wood. There wasn't even a hint of a splinter on its deep blue surface. Coming back to the front again, I was about to just shrug and move on when I noticed that one of the doors was open just a crack.

Now I was curious.

There probably wasn't anything in it. I could picture it in my mind now: just a small, dark space painted the same color as the outside of the box. Still, my mind kept jumping to different conclusions, each more absurd than the last. What if there was someone inside waiting to jump out and surprise me? Maybe Teresa? Maybe there was a clown in there. Or maybe I was about to become a famous movie star! While I rolled my eyes at that last thought, I was still curious, and I knew that it would bug me forever if I didn't open it. I reached my hand out and gave the door a gentle push.

"Whoa," I couldn't help but say as I looked into the box. I'd had a lot of ideas about what could be in the box, but oddly enough, an optical illusion hadn't come to mind. It appeared as if I was looking into a large room. Far larger than the box itself. The walls were gold with copper plating higher up and the ceiling appeared to be at least twenty feet high. Bright circular lights set high into the walls lit the space. A set of stairs that seemed to be just past the doors led up to a glass platform on which sat a circular console. A glass funnel, illuminated from within by a blueish-green light extended from the center of the console to the ceiling. The console itself had levers, buttons, switches, and dials on it. It even had a keyboard. A small screen hung from a track above the console, giving the impression that it could be moved around to wherever you felt like standing.

Whoever painted this had an extremely active imagination, not to mention some purely _amazing_ artistic skills. Oddly enough though, it wasn't signed. Although, that probably would have ruined the illusion. I couldn't even tell where the corners of the box were. Stepping up onto the gold-colored floor, I reached to the right of the door, looking for the wall. Only, there wasn't one. I had a pretty good idea of how big the inside of this box should be, and I was not hitting wall where there should be wall. Looking to the left, I saw a coat rack. I took another step forward and into the box in order to reach for the far left wall that had to be there.

The second I cleared the door, it slammed shut. Startled by the sudden sound, I whipped around. My heart leaped into my throat as I frantically pulled on the tiny knob on the back side of the doors, but they wouldn't budge. I pulled with everything I had. The knob rattled as I tried jiggling it back and forth, but it wouldn't turn. The doors were locked. I slapped the wood in frustration.

A loud thump resounded, and the whole room began to shake. A wheezing, groaning noise filled the air, and I felt my throat seize up. I started beating on the door.

"Let me out!" I finally managed to yell. "Help!"

There was a sudden, violent lurch, and I was thrown away from the doors. I flew backwards, arms pin wheeling out as I attempted to find my balance. I landed on my back and slid across the smooth, metallic floor. I rolled over onto my stomach as the room bounced. I got up to my hands and knees and crawled over to the staircase. I'd almost made it there when the room tilted, and I slid sideways into far right wall. Another bounce, and the room tilted the other way. Focusing on the staircase, I pushed off the wall and used the tilt to my advantage. Grabbing hold of the railing as I slid by, I hauled myself to my feet and wrapped my arms around the handrail. I put my head down and held on for dear life as the floor kept on shaking and bucking beneath my feet. The wheezing groan grew strained, and I heard an electrical fizzle from above. Sparks skittered across the floor, and the smell of burnt plastic filled the air.

There was a final metallic groan, and then the pitching stopped. The room seemed to stabilize. The wheezing groan still sounded, holding a steady rhythm. My inner ear was still telling me that the room was in motion, but it was no longer plagued with violent turbulence. Clenching the handrail, I dared to lift my head. Through the glass floor of the platform, I could see a faint, rapidly dissipating cloud of smoke, but everything still seemed to be in working order.

Keeping my eyes on the platform above, I cautiously let go of the railing. Spreading my legs wide apart to compensate for any unexpected pitching, I turned to look back towards the door. The windows to the outside were dark, but flashes of light occasionally came through. Like there was a thunderstorm raging outside. Except I couldn't hear any thunder. Glancing uncertainly back down at the railing, I tried to decide if it was worth leaving my anchor to see if I could get the doors unlocked. Looking back up at the doors, I decided to go for it. I took a deep breath and sprinted over to them. Once again, I tried the tiny knob, but it wouldn't turn.

Squinting at the windows, I tried standing up on my tiptoes to see out, but I was too short. I turned around and grabbed hold of a coatrack that I'd seen earlier, just to the left of the door. It was miraculously still in the same place as before, and I dragged it over towards the door. I stepped up onto its base and used the hooks higher up to pull myself up level with the windows. Through the thick, nearly opaque glass, I could see more flashes of light. Most were far ahead in the distance. Only the ones close by actually gave enough light to be seen in the room.

Leaning closer to the windows, I started to make out vague shapes. Amid the multicolored flashes of light, which somewhat resembled lightning, I could see that I was flying through some sort of tunnel. Well, it only vaguely resembled a tunnel. The walls kept shifting and changing. Like clouds. Sort of. Vaguely. No, it was completely different than clouds, but I had no other frame of reference. I'd never seen anything like this before. An arc of gold light abruptly sliced through the tunnel just in front of the doors, and the whole room shuddered and shook.

 _No,_ I realized, taking in the changing view out the windows and the reaction to the arc of light. _Not just a room._

 _It's a ship._


	2. Alone

A spaceship, of course. It certainly wasn't a sailing ship. With its weird, otherworldly noises, the pulsating hum, and just the fact that the inside was bigger than the outside meant that the ship was most likely alien. I mean, I could see the Air Force or the CIA making something like this at Area Fifty-One, but it certainly wouldn't look like a box. No, I'd picture something more like a flying saucer. Sleek, and aerodynamic. Made of brushed steel or maybe some other sort of high-tech alloy, not painted wood. This ship most definitely did not fit the profile for "Secret American Spaceship/Weapon."

But English lettering on the top? What was up with that? Maybe it was some sort of disguise or camouflage.

 _If it is supposed to camouflage the ship, they could have done a better job,_ I thought. _I've never heard of a "Police Public Call Box."_

So it was an alien ship. There was quite a lot of speculation going on about aliens nowadays. I'd heard on the news that some seriously strange things were happening in England. Homicidal Santa Clauses, a deadly Christmas star, the Titanic flying over Buckingham palace (that one _had_ to be a hoax), rhinos that talked and drove cars, a disappearing hospital, and other things of that nature. Except it wasn't _just_ in England. There had been sightings reported all over the world. Some of them even here in the States. But I wasn't going to believe in aliens unless one of them decided to land in my backyard.

While this box hadn't technically been in my backyard, it was close enough.

With a trembling breath, I stepped down off the coatrack and dragged it back to its original place, just to the left of the door. For first time, I really looked at the room, taking in everything. Before, I just regarded it as just an interesting painting, but now that I was standing inside it, I had to accept that this was a real, three-dimensional space. My initial estimate of the ceiling height held. The only thing that I really noticed that was different was that I could see three separate passages that led deeper into the ship. One was down on the floor where I was. The other two were up above the glass platform. There were simple, metal staircases leading to the upper two.

I took two sudden steps forward and latched onto the railing on the stairs to the glass platform in case the room started shaking again. Cautiously, I ascended the stairs. Not daring to release my white-knuckled grip, I took a good look at the console. It seemed to be divided into a number of flattened panels that went around the central column. Each panel, like I'd noticed before, was packed with knobs, switches, gears, and buttons of all sorts. There were even a few things that I couldn't even identify. Like a spinning orb that looked like a sea urchin, or a strange, convoluted piece of rotating metal piping. The panels themselves were made of some sort of clear plastic and covered in white circular markings.

While the setup of this alien control console/thing didn't really look threatening, what really unnerved me was that all the switches, levers, and even some of the buttons were moving _all by themselves._ Cautiously releasing the railing and tucking my arms in close to my chest, I circled all the way around the console. My movements were stiff as I proceeded step by slow step. I was just _waiting_ for my abductors to jump out at me. But there was no one there. No one was touching the controls or hiding behind the far side of the console.

That unnerved me more than finding an actual alien would have.

A sudden mechanical whirling noise sent my heart into my throat. I whipped around, my eyes darting every which way, trying to find the source of the sound. It echoed off all the walls and didn't seem to come from any distinct direction. Cautiously, I eyed the passageway to the right of the entrance and took two hesitant steps toward it. Maybe the aliens were somewhere else in the ship? Just watching me to see what my reaction was.

I took a deep, deliberate breath to stop myself from hyperventilating.

"Hello?" I called uncertainly, voice shaking slightly. "Is anyone there?"

The steady tempo of the wheezing groan was my only answer.

"Hello?" I said again, a little louder. Slowly, I took hold of the railing and went up the stairs. A hexagonal hallway opened before me, splitting into two about fifteen feet from the entrance. The walls were a metallic silver and decorated with gold, grooved circles at regular intervals. If these hallway splits were regular, and they were all uniform like this, who knew where the owners of this ship could be? And, more importantly, how could I keep from getting lost if I ventured out of the room with the console?

"Hello?" My voice bounced hollowly off the walls. I could imagine it penetrating every corridor.

I stood in absolute silence after that, waiting for my abductors to emerge from the depths of the ship. My gaze shifted almost constantly between the two branching hallways. I licked my lips nervously, shifting my weight slightly. I yelped and started violently when I accidentally bumped into the hexagonal doorway. Closing my eyes, I tried to consciously control my breathing.

 _Natasha, you've got to calm down,_ I told myself. But who was I kidding? I was on an alien spaceship that was most definitely _not_ on Earth anymore with potentially hostile aliens. No, most definitely hostile aliens. They'd kidnapped me, after all! Oh, God, what if they turned me into some kind of lab rat like in the movies? Not even the crew of the _Enterprise D_ on Star Trek was free of that threat! I was an experiment, and they'd kill me in some horrific way and I'd never see my family again!

With my arms wrapped tightly around my chest, I realized that despite my best efforts, I'd begun hyperventilating. I felt lightheaded, and I was shaking uncontrollably. My pulse pounded in my ears, threatening to drown out the wheezing groan and the pulsating hum coming from the alien spacecraft.

I knew I had to break the cycle of my thoughts to get out of the panic attack. That was what my counselor always told me. But the fear was so strong that it was practically impossible to think rationally. Without conscious thought, I sank down into the fetal position, my back pressed against the wall of the hallway.

I had to get my breathing under control, or I might make myself pass out. I remembered the technique. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. In, out. With a great deal of effort, I managed to stop hyperventilating, though my breathing was still shaky. I stuck to the rhythm religiously, keeping my eyes closed and pillowing my forehead on my knees.

 _You don't know for sure if the aliens are hostile,_ I told myself, even though my fear screamed that the aliens were for sure going to kill me. _It might just be all a big misunderstanding! Those happened on Star Trek too. And it usually ended pretty well for both parties._

My breathing hitched.

 _But this is real life. Not an episode in a sci-fi television series._

I shook myself. _Just because this is real life doesn't mean that this isn't just a simple misunderstanding. That's still a possibility._

 _You don't even know for sure if there even are any aliens on this ship!_

My head jerked up at that. I really didn't know. I turned my head, looking down the hallway as I felt my shaking grow less violent. There wasn't any noise or anything that might indicate the presence of aliens on this ship. I looked back into the console room. There was nothing laying out on the car seat-like chairs or the console or anything like that. The place was neat and tidy. But perhaps I missed something.

Still trembling slightly, I rose to my feet and walked back down the steps. I circled the console again, studying it, the chairs, and what I could see through the floor. Dials and knobs turned on the console, but nothing obstructed the unaided motions of the controls. Below, I could see a lot of twisted wiring and many thick cables threaded through the supporting structure, but there were no work boots or any type of maintenance equipment that I could see lying around. I frowned, cocking my head and wondering. Maybe there really wasn't anyone on this ship besides me.

Although, that was almost creepier than the thought of it being populated by hidden and/or invisible aliens.

However…

I straightened up and looked back at the stairs leading to the branched hallway. They could be deeper in the ship. A renewed flash of fear raced through me at the thought of going away from this room, where the doors to the outside were. Of course, I couldn't get them open right now anyway, but what if that changed? Not to mention the fact that I could end up wandering around this ship for hours and get myself lost. I had no way to mark the places I'd been, and if the hallways were all identical then I was pretty much guaranteed to lose my way.

But if I didn't at least check, I would never know for sure, in addition to possibly missing out on a quick resolution to this problem. Especially if my presence on the ship was indeed a misunderstanding. I'd find the aliens, apologize, and they'd take me back home. The end.

Or I could be walking into a trap. Become a lab experiment and—

With immense effort, I cut off that thought before it could trigger another panic attack. I was nervous enough already.

Warily, I ascended the staircase once more and entered the hexagonal hallway. Reaching the split, I chose the right hand branch, mentally logging that in my mind. As long as I could vividly remember the turns I took, I _should_ be able to get back to the console room. The hallway curved in a serpentine for a bit before splitting again. This time, I went left. _Right, then left,_ I thought to myself, constructing a mental image of my path thus far. All along this hallway were doors. They were hexagonal, like the hallway, and reminded me of the doors on the _Enterprise D_. And like on the fictional galaxy-class starship, they opened automatically when I approached, sliding apart with a nearly inaudible hiss. Idly, I thought that these doors made the Star Trek doors seem obnoxiously loud.

What was in the rooms really didn't make much sense. The first door I tried, on the left side of the hallway, was full of strange objects piled up as high as the ceiling, which was a good forty feet high. I didn't dare go in that room for fear of disturbing something and bringing the whole pile down on top of me, but I did note that the pile was covered in a thick layer of dust, like it hadn't been disturbed in a very long time.

The door directly across from it opened to an unmistakable indoor tennis court. There were metal benches to sit on, towels and rackets hanging from hooks on the walls, and even lockers to put your stuff in. Nothing aside from the gear for the game was in there, though. Unlike the previous room, this one was conspicuously clean. That meant that it was either used or cleaned regularly. A sign that there just might be aliens hiding in here somewhere. But then, the console room hadn't been dusty either, even though it presented no obvious signs of habitation. Why the dusty room then? Maybe all the dust got dumped in there when the ship's self-cleaning systems activated? (If the ship did have self-cleaning systems, that is…)

I frowned at the dilemma, but knew that I didn't have enough evidence to make a concrete conclusion just yet.

The next door opened to a room that had something resembling a willow tree in it. That is, if willow trees were made of long black cables and grew huge, oval lightbulbs. This room I actually dared to enter, remembering that the door had been on the right side of the hallway. The bulbs were roughly the size of basketballs, and engraved with matching circular patterns. I reached out towards one of the bulbs to feel the texture, and the second my fingers brushed against its smooth surface, every single bulb flickered. A loud buzz filled the room, and I flinched at the sound, swiftly withdrawing my hand. I stayed frozen in place for several tense minutes. When nothing else happened, I made for the door and counted myself lucky.

I exhaled in relief as I stepped back out into the hallway, then yelped as I was thrown across to the other side of it as the ship lurched without warning. Looking across to the door I'd come out of, I scrambled to get my bearings, mentally flipping the image in my mind as I began sprinting back to the control room. _Right at the first split, then left,_ I thought to myself. I stayed close to the wall as I ran, the ship pitching wildly around me. I struggled to keep my balance, slipping and leaning heavily on the wall. I nearly fell on my face a couple of times, just barely managing to catch myself before going down completely.

When I got back to the control room, I was pitched forward and fell towards the console, completely missing the steps. I landed hard on my left shoulder, and I had no doubt that I'd bruise from it. Briefly stunned, I tried to get my body to cooperate before I was catapulted into the ceiling or something. As the ship tilted violently yet again, I managed to grab hold of the console. Once I was sufficiently anchored, I braced and tried to ride out the turbulence. Like when the ship had taken off, there were several minutes with the floor bucking and rolling under my feet. The wheezing groan grew strained, and more pronounced the longer this went on.

Then, as suddenly and unexpectedly as it started, it stopped.


	3. Costume Party

Everything just… stopped. The violent motions of the ship, the harsh straining of the wheezing groan, even the switches and levers. They all stopped at the same exact instant, suddenly and without warning. I was thrown off balance by the abruptness of it. While I did manage to maintain my hold on the console, I still ended up falling on my right hip. I grunted, feeling pain flash up from where I'd hit the hard glass floor. I was really getting tired of being tossed around.

With another grunt of effort, I used my handhold to haul myself back up to my feet. Panting, I looked over at the door and saw daylight streaming in the windows. The ship had landed. I gasped and immediately bolted across the platform and dashed down the steps to the door. I grabbed the small silver knob and turned it, half expecting it to be locked, but it twisted easily in my hand. I pulled, and the door swung open with a loud squeak ringing from the hinges. I raced out the door without hesitation, eager to put some distance between myself and the alien ship. I might just run the whole way home, and for sure I would never, ever go back in the new neighborhood again.

I only got three steps away from the ship before I slipped and fell again. Rather than being annoyed at acquiring yet another bruise, all I could feel was astonishment and disbelief as I pushed myself back up. Wherever the ship had landed, it definitely wasn't the new neighborhood. I didn't think it was anywhere near there either. My surroundings were totally unfamiliar.

The sky was a dull, gloomy grey, and the air damp and cold. The temperature was probably somewhere between forty-five and fifty degrees Fahrenheit, if I had to hazard a guess. That was a good ten degrees cooler than I remembered it being. Not to mention that the sun had been out before. Rather than finding myself in the open, half-finished hilly construction zone at the back of my neighborhood, I was surrounded on all sides by tall stone buildings. They weren't skyscrapers, though. Most were only three stories tall, with a few four story buildings here and there. The architecture looked European, oddly. Most of the buildings had windows, but nearly all of those windows had curtains drawn across them. That kind of defeated the point of having windows in the first place, but it didn't seem to be the type of day where the curtains needed to be pulled aside. Who would want to look out on such a dreary day anyway?

Another strange thing I noticed was the crates stacked up against the building across from me. They were made of ordinary wood, but they looked old. Not like rotting and falling apart old, but old in the way they were constructed. They were awfully small for one thing. I hadn't seen crates that looked like these except in old-time movies. What's more was that these crates were sitting next to a pile of what looked like feed sacks. What feed sacks were doing in the middle of what seemed to be a city – judging by the narrow width of the street I was standing on and the small gaps between buildings – was beyond me. Livestock and large animals weren't common in the city, and in some places they weren't even allowed. Maybe whoever these sacks belonged to was throwing them out? They certainly would be ruined if they sat on the wet cobblestone street for much longer. What city even used cobblestones anymore? Usually it was either asphalt or concrete.

 _Which would have provided me with better traction,_ I thought, wiping my wet hands on my jeans and trying to avoid putting too much pressure on my now numerous sore spots.

Even the air smelled wet. Damp and musty, like someone's old basement. And… I paused, sniffing more deliberately just to be sure of what I was smelling.

 _Yup. That's horse manure,_ I thought, blinking in confusion. Just another thing to add to the list of what was weird about this place.

A loud creaking noise and the click of a lock engaging abruptly redirected my attention. I whipped around to see the door into the ship had closed. I darted back over to the alien spacecraft and tried to push it back open, but it wouldn't budge.

"No, no, no! Come on!" I cried as I rattled the doors uselessly. "You can't leave me here! This isn't home!" That much I knew for sure, even if I didn't know exactly where I was.

"Oi! Get out o' the way, yeh bloomin' idiot!" a voice with a distinctive British accent yelled.

I gasped and pressed my back against the doors of the ship fearfully. The voice hadn't come from the ship. It sounded like it had come from somewhere behind it. I peeked around the edge of the blue box as the rattle of a cart echoed off the buildings. The click of horseshoes on stone rang loud and clear in the narrow alleyway. I could see the opening from my vantage point, and I caught a glimpse of the cart as it passed by. Or rather, the load of hay it was carrying as it soon passed out of my line of vision. Another legitimate carriage soon replaced it. It was black, neatly painted and pulled by a team of two black horses. The driver wore a matching black suit and carried a long whip which he was using to encourage the horses to trot past the alley. Closer to the alley, partially blocking my view of the carriage, a crowd of people walked. They were, almost without exception, dressed in exceptionally fancy clothes. The women all wore long, sweeping dresses with voluminous skirts that often dragged behind them. Many carried parasols or packages tucked under their arms, and almost all of them wore some type of hat over their tightly coiled hair. I didn't see one woman with her hair down. The men wore black suits similar to the carriage driver I'd seen, and some walked with or were carrying ornate canes. They also sported top hats and shining black dress shoes.

These people walked proudly, with their heads held high and their strides long and sure. The few people who were dressed more plainly walked with their heads down, and those fancier dressed people gave them a wide berth, like they had a disease or something. I, for one, thought that their clothing looked a little more comfortable. Loose, button up collared shirts and brown pants with suspenders certainly would be easier to move in than a stiff black suit. You wouldn't have to worry about getting it dirty either. The plain, earthen-tone dresses that the women wore didn't have fancy skirts that touched the ground, which allowed these women to walk a little faster than their showy counterparts.

Wary, but curious in spite of myself about what the deal was with all these costumes, I stepped out from behind the blue box and made my way to the front of the alley. I found myself looking at what had to be a main street. Carriages and carts of all sorts moved up and down the road, sending up splashes as they moved through the numerous puddles. I even spotted what had to be a trolley being pulled by six horses. Adding to the carriage and cart traffic were people riding horseback. Those horses all wore English saddles and many of them had leather breast collars across their chests as well. I could tell that all of the horses were shod because I could hear their shoes against the cobblestone street. They make a very distinctive sound, and bare hooves on stone aren't nearly as loud.

The street was about as wide as a typical three lane road in Missouri, and I could see more people walking along the other side like the ones on my side of the street. Behind the people were more of the stone buildings I'd seen before. Now that I could see the front, I realized that they were townhouses, all squashed together along the road with barely any space between them. There was the occasional alley, sure, but sometimes the houses were almost touching one another, they were so close. Most of the windows on these houses faced the street, but like the other buildings I'd seen, all the curtains were shut over them.

I frowned as I looked up and down the street, stepping up to the alley opening and wondering if I'd been dumped in a movie set. Well, it had to be a movie set. Why else was everyone all dressed up?

An older woman, dressed in a dark maroon dress with fancy lace and a ruffled train scoffed as she caught sight of me. She quickly averted her gaze.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" she said harshly as she walked briskly by.

"Put some clothes on," another, younger woman with brown hair said.

"Really, who do you think you are to be walking around in nothing but your underthings? It isn't decent," said a middle-aged red head.

These women all moved hurriedly past me before I could formulate a response. While more women continued to scold me in their snobby British accents, the men tended to stare and slow down. I had the distinct feeling that I was being ogled. Only a couple of men berated me along with the women who walked by.

"Ow!" I yelped as I was abruptly struck across the cheek.

"Don't just stand there, you imbecile!" an old woman in a dark grey-green dress said, lowering her gloved hand. "What you're doing is more than shameful! It's indecent! Utterly abhorrent! How dare your parents let you parade around like that!" she continued, throwing her words at me like spears. I flinched as she leaned closer with every sentence, afraid that she was going to hit me again. I scrambled to come up with a response, but the woman hadn't finished.

"You and your family, wherever they may be, ought to be arrested for encouraging such repulsive behavior!" she shouted. "Fredrick! What are you doing just standing there staring, man? Get this unseemly creature off the streets and out of my sight! I want her locked up this instant!"

A heavy set man with red hair and beard lifted his cap to the woman and moved towards me.

"No, you don't underst—" I started, only to be cut off as the old woman slapped me again.

"Silence, urchin!" she all but screeched.

I stared at her with my jaw hanging open in disbelief for about one second, seeing the severe lines on her face and practically feeling the anger and outrage radiating off of her. I knew in that split second that she would not listen to anything I said. Her mind was made up. As far as she was concerned, the matter was closed. I was going to prison, even if she had to move Heaven and Earth to accomplish that.

I turned and ran down the street, pushing my way through the people in my haste to get away from the witchy woman and the man she'd sent after me. The fact that I was wearing pants and not a dress like her gave me a distinct advantage, and while my tennis shoes didn't give me all that much grip on the wet rock, it was better than trying to run in dress shoes like the man was. I shoved through the throng of people, sprinting when there was enough room for me to do so, just trying to put some distance between me and my pursuers. I glanced back, trying to gauge how far away they were.

"He's of the finest stock, of course. Stands at sixteen hands at the shoulder—"

"Oof!"

I slammed into a man holding a grey horse, knocking both of us down. The horse promptly reared and bolted as the man lost his grip on the animal's reins.

 _Okay, this is just getting ridiculous now,_ I thought as I jumped back to my feet. _I think I've fallen down more today than I have over the course of my entire life._

Spotting an opening between the houses just ahead, I raced towards it. I reached out and grabbed the corner of the house, using it to stabilize myself through the sharp turn so that I didn't have to slow down much. I didn't dare look back now. I leaped over a crate of abandoned vegetables and made a hard left, sliding to a stop just past the corner and pressed my back against the wall of the nearest building. Breathing hard, I tried to listen for the sounds of pursuit and looked around for further avenues of escape.

I let my head hit the wall behind me as I realized I'd turned into a dead end.

 _Brilliant,_ I thought sarcastically. It'd be so much more helpful if I could actually think straight while running terrified away from an angry community of costumed people.

I looked back the way I'd come, listening again.

"My horse!" someone was shouting. Presumably the man I'd knocked over. "My prize stallion! Someone catch him!"

I barely had any warning before said stallion suddenly came galloping down the alley. He rushed past me and skidded to a stop, momentarily losing his footing on the slick cobblestones. The stallion whirled, ready to run back the other way, his head held high. I was close enough that I could see the whites of his eyes showing. Before he could decide to run me over, I jumped into the middle of the alley branch and threw my arms up, making myself look bigger and scarier.

"Whoa!" I cried, waving my arms to emphasize to the stallion that I was not to be trifled with. "Easy there," I continued in a lower, calming tone.

The stallion snorted and tossed his head uneasily, but remained still otherwise.

"That's it. Easy, boy," I encouraged, slowly walking closer. If I could just grab hold of his reins.

The horse's ears faced forward as all of his attention suddenly became focused on me. He bobbed his head as I approached, but I could see that he was beginning to calm down. I talked in that same soothing voice as I made my way up next to him. He bent his head lower and sniffed my offered hand suspiciously, but let me come close. I softly took hold of the horse's reins and stroked his neck and face.

"Good boy," I praised, patting him.

Now that I was closer to him and not trying to just get past him and his owner, I got a good look at him. He wore English tack, like all the other horses I'd seen that weren't pulling carriages. His saddle, bridle, and breast collar were all made of soft black leather. A fleece pad protected the horse's back from pressure from the saddle tree, and an additional blanket beneath the pad added another barrier between the saddle and the horse. He had a harsh shank bit in his mouth, which didn't surprise me. Stallions are notoriously aggressive and difficult to control because of their hormones. I just hoped that there weren't any mares in heat nearby, because although I'd been riding and working with horses for seven years, I definitely did _not_ have enough experience to handle a stallion with mating on his mind.

"Hey! There he is! Down here!" someone shouted behind me.

I gasped and turned as the stallion snorted, throwing his head up and the sudden commotion and jerking my arm up with it.

"Hey! That naked girl's got him!" a different man exclaimed.

"Over there!" yet another voice called, and the chubby man called Fredrick that had been chasing me originally came into view. He had apparently been joined by three others sometime during his pursuit of me.

"She stole my horse!" the horse's owner shouted, catching sight of me holding his stallion and pointing at me in outrage. My jaw worked soundlessly as I tried desperately to remember how to speak.

"A horse thief as well as an insolent brat!" came the disapproving tones of the witch-lady. "But of course, I'm not surprised."

I looked back at the stallion, seeing that his reins were looped over his neck already. Without consciously deciding to, I turned, grabbed the horse's mane, and vaulted up onto his back, hoping that the stirrups wouldn't be too terribly long. Before even trying to find them with my tennis shoes, I kicked the stallion in the ribs and used the reins to point him towards the group of people beginning to congregate in front of me.

"Yah!" I yelled, even though it was the kick that told him to go.

The stallion, already spooked from the increasingly boisterous group, shot forward. Shouts of outrage and cries of panic rang out as the crowd scattered before me. I pulled hard on the right rein, trying to get the horse back out on the road where he'd have more space to fully extend his stride. He protested the rough treatment, bracing his neck against me and tossing his head, but he did turn like I wanted. We raced out of the alley and onto the main road, creating quite a stir as we did so. I reined the stallion to the left once on the road, back the way I'd come.

Carriage drivers and riders alike yelled various abuses at me as I straightened out my mount and kicked him forward. Over the clatter of the stallion's hooves, I heard a police whistle blowing.

"Stop that horse!" someone called.

I bent low over the stallion's neck and kissed at him, urging him to move faster. The horse responded by lengthening his stride, surging forwards. Constantly shifting my weight in the saddle and keeping my body balanced over the stallion's center of gravity, I swerved and wound around various slow-moving carriages and riders. A man pushing a cart of loaves of bread suddenly exclaimed and swerved into my path, whether because he was trying to make the stallion stop or because he was suddenly surprised by my appearance, I don't know. I dropped into two-point position over the saddle as the stallion leaped effortlessly over the small cart.

The ring of hoofbeats behind me let me know that the chase was still on, and had shifted to horseback. I kissed to the stallion again, daring a quick glance over my shoulder. Four mounted policemen (at least, I assumed they were policemen) were riding hard trying to catch up to me. Seeing an intersection ahead, I leaned to the right and pulled on the corresponding rein. The stallion responded with a tight right turn. I stuck to his back like glue through it, despite the speed and sharpness of the turn. As the stallion straightened back out, I glanced behind me, hoping that the police hadn't been able to ride that turn, but they were still there and clearly not amateur equestrians.

I was only able to keep ahead of them for just few minutes longer. One of the mounted policemen eventually managed to catch up to me and grabbed the stallion's bridle. I immediately pulled back on the bit, trying to get the stallion to slow up suddenly and break the man's grip. Unfortunately, the policeman slowed up with me and kept his hold. I tried to rein the stallion away, the poor horse tossing his head at the confusing cues. Another mounted officer came up on my other side, blocking the movement. The officer holding the stallion's bridle turned his horse in a tight circle to the right, tugging my mount along with his.

While I was fighting to regain control of the stallion, I didn't notice the officer on the ground until he reached up, grabbed my arm and forcefully pulled me off the stallion's back. Surprised, I let go of the reins and fell to the hard street below, landing on my back. Again.

 _Really?_ I had time to think before I was roughly pulled to my feet.

"You're in a right side of trouble here, missy," the officer holding me said as my arms were forced behind my back. Handcuffs were closed around my wrists and I was shoved forward.

"No! No, please!" I begged, trying to figure out how to explain myself and get out of this situation.

"Put her in the carriage," a mounted officer with a large mustache said. "That way, at least, she'll be out of sight."

"Right then," my captor said, pushing me towards a dark, boxy carriage with small, barred windows.

I didn't even have time to contemplate resisting before I was shoved in. The officer closed the doors, and the bolt slid into place with an ominous clang.

* * *

 **Some helpful horse vocabulary words:**

 **Bit -** a long piece of metal that rests in the horse's mouth. It is positioned in the space between the horse's incisors and molars, a section of the jaws called the "bars." By pulling on the reins, pressure is communicated through the bit onto the horse's bars and tongue, allowing the rider to direct the horse's movement. Bits can come in one solid piece - called a straight bit - or have a hinge in the middle - a broken bit - allowing it to bend in the horse's mouth.

 **Shank Bit** \- a shank bit has two long pieces of metal that are parallel to the horse's face attached to the actual mouthpiece. These shanks, as they are called, allow the rider to apply a greater amount of pressure to the horse's bars and tongue without having to pull very hard on the reins. This allows for very subtle cues when used correctly, and affords the rider a higher degree of control over the horse's direction and movement than a bit without shanks does.

 **Bridle** \- a leather harness that the horse wears on his head to keep the bit in the proper position in his mouth. It can be as simple as a single leather strap attached to each side of the bit and looped behind the horse's ears. Most bridles have either a browband - a strap of leather coming from the bit strap and going across the horse's forehead - or ear straps - small loops of leather encircling the horse's ears. They can also have throatlatches, which are simply loops of leather that are buckled loosely under the section of the horse's head where it meets his neck. These extra parts ensure that the horse can't simply toss the bridle off.

 **Breast collar:** a y-shaped piece of equipment used to help keep the saddle from sliding backwards on a horse's back. The breast collar attaches on either side of the saddle, just above the horse's shoulders, and to the cinch, running between the horse's front legs.

 **Cinch -** a long strap of leather, sometimes coated with fleece or some other soft material for the horse's comfort, that holds the saddle in place on a horse's back. It attaches to the underside of the saddle, just behind the horse's shoulders, and wraps securely around the horse's belly.

 **Equestrian -** a person who rides, trains, breeds, or is otherwise involved in working with horses.

 **Hands** \- a unit of measurement used to determine a horse's height. 1 hand = 4 inches =10.16 centimeters = 0.1016 meters. Height is measured from the ground to the top of the horse's shoulders.

 **Saddle -** an object made of a wooden frame - the saddle tree - that is covered in leather and various padding materials. The purpose of a saddle is to distribute the rider's weight evenly over the horse's back, making the both the horse and the rider more comfortable.

 **English Saddle -** a type of saddle without a forward pommel, the raised portion containing the horn that is found on Western saddles. English saddles are not something you would see cowboys riding in, and are generally smaller than Western saddles. Google it if you want to see pictures.

 **Shod** \- a term indicating that a horse has metal horseshoes nailed to his feet. Some horses have shoes nailed to all four feet, but some only have shoes on the front feet.

 **Tack -** any equipment that a horse wears to perform a job. This includes saddles, bridles, breast collars, and driving harnesses (for pulling carts or carriages).

* * *

 **AN: Sorry for the long vocabulary sheet. Hopefully no one is confused now. Though if you are, go ahead and PM me your questions, and I'll do my best to answer them.**


	4. Holding Cell

Propped up awkwardly on one elbow, all I could do was stare at the closed door. At a loss for words, let alone coherent thought, I found myself passively taking in my surroundings. The double doors that separated me from the outside world were made of painted black wood. All except for the windows, which had metal frames and bars. The light they permitted to enter the carriage interior was dim. Not that there was a lot of light to begin with on an overcast day like this. Maybe after my eyes adjusted I'd be able to see whether or not there were even benches to sit on. Not that it mattered that much, really. I doubted that I'd be able to get up onto one anyway what with my hands cuffed behind my back.

What was I going to do? What _could_ I do?

I sighed, letting myself sink back onto the wooden floor as the carriage started moving. It was hardly a smooth ride, with frequent bumps and rattles. The sway of the carriage had no real pattern, but compared to the violent turbulence I'd experienced while trapped in the blue box that was somehow bigger on the inside, it was hardly worth mentioning. It did nothing for my bruised and battered body, though. I ached almost everywhere from the abuse I'd suffered thus far today.

I shifted, trying to get a little more comfortable. The chain on my handcuffs rattled slightly with the movement. I shook my head, trying and failing to get my long blonde hair out of my face. The somewhat damp strands only moved a few inches at best, sticking stubbornly to my skin. I didn't bother with a second attempt. Instead, I lay still, staring blankly at the wall of the carriage as it bounced along beneath me. It was shadowed by a narrow wooden ledge that could just barely be considered a bench, but even through the dark coloration I could still see the natural whorls and patterns in the wood. Some of them resembled rather unpleasant looking faces. They seemed to stare at me condemningly, even though I didn't know what I'd done wrong. I tried not to look at them for too long. As my eyes wandered randomly over the faint natural lines, I wondered what was going to happen to me.

Would I ever get home?

Well, I suppose to do that I'd have to find the blue box again, and there was no chance of that now. Even if I did get out, there's no way that I'd ever be able to figure out where it was in this city. I didn't know the layout, which streets led where, or anything like that. I didn't even know what city this was; just that it definitely _wasn't_ St. Louis. More than that, I wasn't even sure what country this city was in. The multitude of British accents had me thinking that it was probably England, but that wasn't the point. There could be hundreds of alleys like the one the alien ship had landed in, and I'd never know just which one it was. No, my odds of ever seeing that box again were slim to none. Even if by some miracle I did manage to find it, there was no guarantee that it would take me home. I might even end up worse off than I was now. There was just no way to know.

 _It's pointless anyway,_ I thought dejectedly. To find the alien ship, I'd have to somehow get out of these handcuffs, break open the back of the carriage, and make it back to the exact alley way I'd come from without getting arrested again. But, of course, that scenario broke down at "somehow get out of these handcuffs." I had no clue how to pick a lock, and I didn't have a toothpick or bobby pin or whatever else people used for that sort of thing. Getting out the door would be impossible, seeing as it was bolted shut. I weighed barely one hundred pounds. No way was I strong enough to force that open, even if I tried ramming it with my bony shoulders. And, well, I'd only been here for roughly five minutes before getting myself arrested. There was no way on Earth that I'd be able to get back to the alley without being noticed.

I was stuck. At an impasse. Trapped. Whatever you want to call it.

There was no way out of this situation.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I bit my lip as I tried to hold them back. Crying wouldn't help me. Crying was weak, and I had to be strong.

Oh, who was I kidding? I had nothing to prove, no way out, and no way home.

I broke and gave into the despair that was threatening to drown me.

I don't know how long I cried. Long enough, certainly. Even after my tears slowed and I grew emotionally numb, the carriage still rolled onward. I stared blankly ahead, unmoving and unfeeling. Even my thoughts faded into nothing.

When the carriage finally stopped, I hardly noticed. Nor could I really bring myself to care.

"Come on, then," I heard a male voice say.

I didn't move. I couldn't find the motivation to do so.

There was a creak as the police officer stepped up into the carriage. A boot nudged me in the back.

"Come on. Up with you" he said, giving me a second, harder nudge. I flinched as the toe of his boot dug uncomfortably into my ribs. Awkwardly, I rolled over onto my stomach and tried to get up. It wasn't exactly easy with my hands cuffed behind me. Fortunately, the officer took hold of my upper right arm and helped me up the rest of the way.

"All right. Now, don't give me any trouble, y'hear?" the officer said.

I nodded dumbly and allowed him to steer me towards the door. I jumped off the end of the carriage, and the officer stepped down behind me. Tugging firmly on my arm, he led me towards what I assumed was a police station. Except, it looked nothing like one. I thought it looked more like a warehouse. It was large and rectangular like one, anyway. The few windows I could see were all opaque, and appeared to be made of thick, sturdy glass framed by some kind of metal in a grid pattern. The building's structure was mostly composed of bricks, and what little stone work there was on it was not particularly ornate. In all, there was nothing that seemed to positively indicate that this place was where one could find police officers. I assumed there was a sign somewhere labeling this building as a police station, but I didn't see it. There weren't really any identifying markers at all on the building. It was odd, to say the least.

The officer led me up to the heavy wooden door at the front, reaching down to grab a sturdy-looking handle. There was an ominous creak as he pulled the door open. Increasing the pressure on my arm, the officer ushered me into a dimly lit space. I blinked a couple of times, trying to get my eyes to compensate for this second sudden change in lighting. A slight pull backwards on my arm told me to stop after we were just inside the doorway. As the door clicked shut again, I took a good look at my new surroundings.

The first thing I noticed was the bricks. The floor was made of bricks. The ceiling was made of bricks, and so were the walls. If there had been benches along the walls of the small room where I was standing, they probably would have been made of bricks too. The only things that weren't made of bricks were the two windows behind me. They let in a decent amount of light. More than I'd had in the carriage, anyway, but the opaque glass filtered the light in a way that made the space feel almost claustrophobic. There were no desks, chairs, or any other type of furniture. I didn't even see any lamps. Straight in front of me, there were three hallways, also composed of bricks from the ceiling to the floor.

"Warden!"

I sucked in a sharp breath and started in surprise at the officer's shout.

 _Warden?_ I thought in confusion. _Like a prison warden? This can't be a prison, can it?_

"Yes?" another voice answered, interrupting my thoughts. It sounded from somewhere down the middle hallway.

"Got another one for yeh!" the officer standing next to me returned.

There was a scraping from the back of the center hallway, and a short, balding, somewhat portly man – the warden, presumably – emerged from a well-camouflaged doorway near the end of the hallway. He walked steadily towards us. The warden was clearly not in a hurry, but he didn't seem hesitant to approach either. As he strode ever closer, I noticed that his uniform wasn't the same as the police officer I was with. It almost reminded me of a military uniform. An old, antiquated military uniform though. Not a regular, modern-day one. Instead of being the green camo pattern that I would have expected, the coat and pants the warden wore were a deep black. There were fancy patterns embroidered on the front of his coat and the brass buttons on it contrasted sharply with its dark color, giving him a crisp, clean appearance despite his physique. Straight, pressed pants tucked neatly into well-shined boots completed the look. Altogether, his outfit kind of looked like something I might have imaged Napoleon or someone like that wearing.

 _Except, Napoleon always wore that funny hat and had more ornamentation on his uniform,_ I thought.

"We caught this one near Adams Street," the officer said as the warden reached us. "She stole a horse and we had to chase her down."

Surprise was evident in the warden's features as he looked me up and down.

"Really?" he said. He didn't seem to quite believe the officer. "Stole a horse, eh? Little wisp of a girl like her? And what's she doing in her underthings?" The warden directed a stern, warning glare at the officer.

"She was like that when we found her, sir," the officer said stiffly, deliberately not looking at me.

The warden blinked in surprise, then sighed and shook his head disapprovingly.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young lady," the warden said, addressing me for the first time. He turned back to the officer before I could ask why. "See if you can get in contact with the girl's parents," he said with resignation. "And send for the Inspector as well."

The officer nodded and proceeded out of the building, turning me over to the warden's supervision.

"All right, you," the warden said, taking hold of my upper arm. "I'll be taking you to a cell for a hopefully short stay. We don't need the likes of you cluttering up the prison."

"This is a prison?" I asked, still not believing it.

"Aye," the warden answered as he steered me down the right-hand hallway. "What did you think it was? An inn?"

I didn't have an answer for that. I blinked as I tried to come to terms with this new knowledge. No, I hadn't thought it was an inn or a hotel, but it was still a bit unsettling to find out that what I had initially thought was a police station was actually a prison. They couldn't just throw me in prison. It wasn't legal. At least, it wasn't legal in America. Maybe things were different in England? Because I was pretty sure that's where I was. Not sure exactly _where_ in England, but definitely somewhere there.

"We don't have the space or the time to deal with simple public nuisances like you," the warden continued, heedless to my current train of thought. "Not when there are murderers with the likes of Jack the Ripper still roaming the streets."

 _Jack the Ripper?_ I thought in confusion. _Didn't he commit his murders a way long time ago?_

"It's the real criminals that need to be in here," the warden said with conviction. "Pretty young women like yourself should be at home, sipping tea and choosing suitors."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Tea? Suitors? What?

"With those blue eyes of yours, I bet you have a fair amount of men interested in you, eh?" the warden asked.

"Umm…" I said, not sure how to respond.

Fortunately, the warden stopped beside an empty cell at that point. He pulled out a ring of skeleton keys and bent to unlock the door, still maintaining his hold on my arm. He then swung the door open and gestured for me to go into the cell. I stepped inside slowly. The warden followed behind me.

"Now, I'm going to take your cuffs off," he said. "Don't give me any trouble, or I can just leave them on, all right?" the warden finished, warning in his tone.

Remembering that the officer had said the same thing before helping me out of the carriage, I thought, _Little me, a seventeen-year-old girl and practically a stick figure cause trouble?_

Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to; though something told me that the warden wouldn't appreciate it if I voiced that thought. So I just silently nodded my agreement. The warden then unlocked the cuffs and slid them off my wrists. As I turned to look over my shoulder, the warden left the cell, relocking the door. Once it was secured, he walked off without another word.

I turned away from the cell door, staring at the small, square space I was confined to. There wasn't much to see. Like the rest of the building, my cell was made entirely of bricks. I had one window on the wall opposite of the door. It wasn't a particularly large window, and was made of the same opaque glass I had seen in the windows at the front of the building. On the right wall there was a rather rickety looking bed. Stepping up closer, I grimaced at the sight of the mattress. Its questionable appearance made me hesitant to sit on it or even touch it. It smelled a bit too, and the blankets looked greasy, like they hadn't been washed in months. Maybe years. Shaking my head slightly in disgust, I decided not to sit down and turned away from the bed. I saw a plain metal bucket in the opposite corner as I looked across the room. I didn't have to go closer to determine what its use was. The revolting scent of human waste gave it away.

I turned back towards the cell door and just sat down on the floor. It probably wasn't much cleaner. I had never seen such a disgusting, gloomy, and just depressing room. Though, I supposed that prisons and prison cells weren't meant to look inviting and cozy. That would kind of defeat their purpose as a crime deterrent. But this was downright unsanitary! No sink, no toilet, no shower, and the sorry excuse for a bed wasn't even clean! All the more reason not to hang around if I didn't have to.

With that thought in mind, I got up and walked over to the bars. I grabbed hold of them and rattled them experimentally. The structure seemed pretty solid. Not that I was all that surprised. It wasn't like I could _actually_ break out of here, no matter how much I wanted to. But still…

I sighed and turned away, feeling that emptiness and despair from the carriage ride take hold of me again. I sat down heavily in the middle of the cell, wondering yet again what I was supposed to do. I stared down listlessly at my crossed legs and started playing with my pant legs. It wasn't like I could call anyone to come get me out of here.

I froze.

Hang on…

I jerked my head up as realization dawned on me. Then I groaned in frustration with myself.

"Stupid," I said, smacking myself on the forehead and jumping to my feet. "Call someone. Of course! That's what cell phones are for! Why didn't I think of this earlier?" I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, ready to bring up Mom's number and call her. Surely she'd be able to explain to the police that this was all a big misunderstanding and get me out of here. I flipped the phone open, fingers poised and ready to dial, but didn't so much as press one button once I saw the screen.

No reception.

Figures.

I tried holding the phone in different positions, standing near the window and near the door. When that didn't work, I moved around my cell, searching for that magic spot where I could get even just one bar. Just one bar, that's all I needed. I even tried rebooting it, but nothing worked. There must have been too many layers of bricks between me and the outside. I lowered my phone with a frustrated huff. If only I'd thought of this while I was still in the carriage! I might have had my cell phone with me, but without reception, it was useless.

"So much for that idea," I said softly, snapping it shut and putting it back in my pocket. I sat down on the floor again, feeling utterly crushed. I was back where I'd started. Stuck, with no way out. I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my face against them as tears spilled over once more.

"I must say that I am surprised that you could come so quickly, Inspector Thompson," the warden said, his voice echoing down the hallway and into my cell. I looked up, tears still streaming down my cheeks.

"Yes, well, I was in the area," another unfamiliar voice answered. "and considering the situation as you described it, I thought it best to get this girl back home to her parents as soon as possible. They are, no doubt, quite worried."

"Yes, I imagine so," the warden replied. "But they could have at least instilled a better sense of propriety into her. Running about in her underthings." I heard him huff disapprovingly.

The warden walked into view, looking none too pleased and holding out his hand in a weak gesture towards me as he finished his sentence. Another man was with him, slightly taller, with short brown hair, and wearing round glasses. He was, presumably, Inspector Thompson. The Inspector wore a uniform that was ever so slightly different than the warden's. His coat was plainer, and his boots and pants were wet and mud-stained. Inspector Thompson raised his eyebrows as he looked me over.

As the men approached, I stood and took a couple steps closer to the bars.

"What is your name, young lady?" he asked.

"Natasha," I said. "Natasha Bernard."

"And where might you be from?"

"Missouri. In the U.S.," I added after a short pause. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble, I swear. I just want to go home."

"You're from America?" Inspector Thompson asked in surprise.

"Yes," I said, slightly confused.

"Well, you're certainly a long way from home," he commented.

"Um… Where, exactly, am I?" I asked, not sure that I was going to like the answer, but I needed to know for sure.

"You're in England, Miss Bernard. London, to be precise."

"Oh," I said. I had still really been hoping that this was just a set for a Sherlock Holmes movie or something despite the fact that I was already almost positive that it wasn't. But how could it be London?

"Look," I continued. "I really didn't mean to cause any trouble. If you just could point me to the nearest airport, I'll get a plane ticket and get out of your hair."

"Airport? What's an airport?" the warden asked.

Inspector Thompson looked at me expectantly.

"You know, an airport," I said, feeling as confused as the two men looked. "Where the passenger jets land?"

Inspector Thompson sighed, pulling off his glasses and turning to the warden.

"I think we'd better send for Madam Vastra," he said.

"Yes, sir," he replied, nodding and leaving immediately.

"Who's Madam Vastra?" I questioned.

Inspector Thompson hesitated for a moment, tapping his glasses against his palm a few time.

"She's a private investigator who specializes in both difficult and… strange cases such as yours," the Inspector replied.

I frowned. I didn't see how I could possibly be either a strange or difficult case. I shook my head, dismissing the confusing thought.

"Look, I just need to get to the airport. That's all."

"Whatever this… 'airport' of yours is, Miss Bernard, I cannot take you to it. Nor can I release you until you have been properly clothed. Whatever your intentions may have been, you still created a great disturbance by going out in public naked."

"But I'm wearing clothes!" I protested, making a sweeping gesture to myself.

"Perhaps they dress differently in America, but whatever strange cloth you're wearing is far too indecent to wear on the streets here," Inspector Thompson said firmly. "Because you are foreign and unfamiliar with proper conduct here in London, I'm willing to let you off with a fine."

I gaped at him.

"You can't be serious."

"I most certainly am."

"I don't have any money with me," I protested.

"Then I would hope that whomever you're staying with does, as you cannot leave until the fine is paid." Seeing the distraught look on my face, he softened slightly. "I'm sorry, Miss Bernard, but that is the law."

He gave me an apologetic smile and left.

I was stunned. How could he not know what an airport was? That was just bizarre. I shook my head in disbelief.

Well, at least I for sure knew that I was in England now. Not quite sure that I believed that it was London, though. London should have been modern, not have horses and carriages everywhere. Either way, it didn't really improve my mood. England was, like, what? A twelve hour flight away from New York? And then it would be another… six hours from there to St. Louis. I wasn't sure, but either way, I wasn't going to be going home anytime soon. I supposed that I should be thankful that I was still on Earth in the first place. I could have ended up on another planet, after all. That would have been far worse than what had actually happened so far. Still, I wished that I had never set foot in that stupid box to begin with. Then none of this would have happened.

I sat down again, hugging my knees.

There was nothing I could do now but wait. Maybe after my emotions settled I'd actually be able to think my way through this clearly.


	5. First Impressions

I shivered in the cool, damp air of my prison cell. While it wasn't as cold in here as it was outside, it was still uncomfortably chilly. I probably would have been a little warmer if my clothes were completely dry. I wasn't soaked to the skin, but there were some pretty big wet patches on my jeans, my shirt, and my hoodie. My hair was somewhat wet as well, though again, not completely soaked as if I'd just stepped out of the shower. Though, even if I was just dealing with wet hair, that alone would have been enough to make me feel cold. I often had a hard time maintaining a comfortable body temperature because I was so skinny, though not malnourished. Or, as I often thought of it, I lacked the proper "insulation" to easily regulate my internal temperature in extreme environments. It usually meant that I had to wear a lot of layers in cold weather because I chilled quickly. The reverse was true as well, unfortunately. So, if I was dealing with hot and wet instead of cold and wet, I'd be just as uncomfortable as I was now.

At least it was quiet. Aside from the occasional scuffing that my tennis shoes made on the hard brick floor, I couldn't really hear much else. There was no rattling of chains, no rats squeaking or anything like that. The other prisoners weren't talking either, which honestly surprised me. I knew that there actually were other prisoners in here besides me. I'd seen them when the warden had escorted me to my cell. They had all been women, oddly. At least, the ones I'd seen had been. None of them had spoken as the warden and I had walked past their cells, not that I was paying all that much attention to them at the time. Now that the warden was gone, I would have expected at least _some_ conversation. Maybe a few complaints about the conditions of the prison, or about the food. But I hadn't heard anything, even though I'd been sitting in this cell for around an hour now.

It was weird.

Well, this whole day had been weird, if I was going to be honest. The fact that this prison was strangely quiet was just one more thing to add to the already long list. First and foremost on that list was the blue box/alien spaceship/thing, followed by the cobblestone streets, horses and carriages everywhere, the outfits that people were wearing, everybody's British accents, the weather, the way the buildings looked, the police, the fact that I had been arrested for streaking even though I was fully clothed, and that nobody seemed to know what an airport was.

I shook my head slowly. That last one I just didn't get. I mean, okay, I could accept that I was in England somewhere, but no matter what Inspector Thompson had said, it just couldn't be London. England was _not_ a backwards country. It had cell phones and cars and all of the same modern conveniences that we had in America. As the country's capital, London had to be a big, prosperous, _modern_ city. What little of this particular city I'd seen though, was anything but. It made no sense. Maybe it was some kind of city for the British version of the Amish? Or were the Amish strictly an American thing?

I had really hoped that this was just some kind of movie set showing London as it was in the olden times. That would have made things so much simpler. Although, if this were a real movie set, then I'd have seen camera guys around. Actually, they should have been all over the place. Of course, it wasn't like I could have looked for them when I'd been riding a stallion at a full gallop down the streets trying to get away from all the crazy people, but still. I supposed that all the cameras could have been hidden, but the extras would never have taken their roles this seriously. On an authentic movie set, I would have been promptly escorted off of it and taken to the actual police.

As I really was somewhere in England, then I might be in some real trouble here. I was actually in prison, and I really was supposed to pay a fine for not dressing like everyone else. But I couldn't. I didn't have any money with me, and even if I did, these English police officers probably wouldn't accept American money. They'd want pounds or shillings or whatever it was that the Brits used as currency. Euros? Anyway, the point was that I was unable to pay the fine. Which meant that I could be sitting in this cell for quite a while.

I hoped it wouldn't take Mom too long to figure out that something wasn't right. Maybe when I missed dinner she'd notice and start making the appropriate calls. When she found out how ridiculous the circumstances of my arrest were, she'd go on the warpath for sure. So I would definitely get out of here, I noted with relief. It just might take longer than I'd like, since I didn't have cell phone reception and couldn't call Mom directly. I'd have to ask the warden for my phone call the next time I saw him and talk to her then.

How exactly I was going to explain to my mother just how I got here in the first place was another matter entirely.

Just after I'd come to terms with the fact that I would be here for a while, I heard footsteps. They steadily increased in volume, moving towards me, and I could hear that there were three separate sets. Two were slower, and slightly lower pitched than the other (one of them was the warden, presumably), and the third set beat out a swift, sure, confident tempo. Judging by clear clicks I heard, I guessed that the owner of those feet was wearing high-heeled shoes. A woman? Well, I didn't think that any men wore high-heeled shoes. Maybe this was that Madame Vastra person that the warden had mentioned earlier?

 _Well,_ I thought. _They're getting pretty close now. I won't have to wait much longer to see who's walking back here. Even though it's probably just the warden with more prisoners to incarcerate._

As the three individuals reached my cell, I realized that this was not the warden escorting new prisoners, though he was present. I also recognized Inspector Thompson from earlier, but not the woman who was with them. Standing tall outside my cell door (which more closely resembled a porticullis) she was very clearly _not_ wearing handcuffs, and was therefore not a new prisoner. Her hands, which were encased in delicate black lace gloves, were clasped neatly at her waist. She wore a long sleeved black dress with a high collar and fancy embroidery and beadwork. It had none of the "puffs" that I'd seen on other women's dresses. The skirt hung straight down from the woman's waist and stopped just below her ankles; no wrinkles or deliberate ruffles to be seen. She was indeed wearing high-heeled shoes, but they more closely resembled boots than shoes. A small black hat rested smartly on top of her head and a veil obscured her features, giving her skin an almost greenish look in the dull lighting.

The warden stepped off to the side as Inspector Thompson gestured demonstratively at me, like I was a piece of fine artwork that he'd brought out for this lady's inspection. The woman turned her head to look at me, and after a mere moment's glance suddenly lifted her veil up away from her face.

I took in a sharp breath as I saw what the veil had hidden. It wasn't just the lighting and the veil that had made her skin seem green. It actually _was_ green. And scaly. Almost… reptilian. Her facial features looked human enough, but she had a sort of bony crest on top of her head instead of hair. The woman's expression was intense and her eyes sharp as she studied me. I almost thought I caught hint of recognition in her gaze as she looked me up and down, but I was probably imagining it. I had never seen this woman before – I'd certainly remember her if I had – and there was no logical reason for her to know me.

Her eyes followed my movements as I got my feet under me and stood, eyeing the pair warily.

"Well," the woman said. "This is certainly not what I expected when I received your telegram, Inspector," Her voice was crisp and clear, enhanced by her English accent.

"As I said earlier, Madame Vastra," Inspector Thompson replied. "This young woman is an unusual case. If it weren't for the odd things she spoke of and the strange quality of her… _minimal_ clothing, I would not have sent for you."

"Fortunately for her, you did," Madame Vastra said, not taking her eyes off me. "And just what do you have to say for yourself?" she asked, looking at me expectantly.

I blinked.

"Um…" I began uncertainly.

"I told you to stay inside until I had concluded business with my client," she continued sternly. "Was that really such a difficult thing to do?"

I stared at her incredulously. My mouth worked soundlessly as I tried to figure out what she was talking about.

"You know this young woman?" Inspector Thompson said in surprise.

"Yes," Madame Vastra replied. "Though I had hoped to introduce her to you _after_ we'd had a discussion about her clothing preferences." She gave me a hard, annoyed stare at this point.

"This is my niece, the Lady Godiva."

"What?!" I exclaimed, jerking backwards. "I'm not your niece! I've never seen you before in my life!"

"If you really think that this sort of nonsense is going to get you out of learning how to behave in a civilized manner, you are gravely mistaken," Madame Vastra said, fixing me with a look that told me not to argue with her. She turned to Inspector Thompson. "I'm afraid her parents, rich as they are, put little effort in to raising Godiva properly and often let her run about the countryside as she chose. Consequently, she's turned into quite a wild thing, but I assure that she is nothing more than a spoiled brat. A fact that her parents are now keen to correct. That is why they sent her to me, and she just arrived this morning."

"She said her name was Natasha," the Inspector said somewhat dubiously.

"Did she now?" Madame Vastra said. "Likely she thought that giving you a false name would allow her to escape the necessity of learning proper etiquette. I assure you, her proper name _is_ Godiva."

"No, it's not!" I countered.

"Clearly, she is going to be more of a challenge than I originally anticipated," she said, not bothering to acknowledge my statement. Inspector Thompson slowly nodded his understanding.

I found that highly disturbing. I looked between Madame Vastra and the Inspector in disbelief. Madame Vastra was lying – elaborately, I might add – but she was a good liar, looking at me with the proper amount of disdain and familiarity that would be expected of a disapproving aunt. That, or she was genuinely mistaken, but she didn't really strike me as the sort of woman who was capable of mixing up her niece with a complete stranger. She was too perceptive for that. Or she seemed to be, anyway. So why was she lying, then? What did she want with me?

 _It can't be anything good,_ I thought warily. _Maybe she's the one who sent the box to the new neighborhood in the first place, which would make her an alien. She certainly looks like she could be one._

I tensed, my adrenalin levels rising along with my distrust. I took a slow, fear-filled step back from the cell door.

Unaware of my exact thought processes, Madame Vastra straightened and re-clasped her hands in front of her. "Your first lesson is that young ladies such as yourself do not engage in outbursts. You will speak only when you are spoken to. Do you understand?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but Madame Vastra fixed me with a glare so severe that I found myself abruptly shutting my mouth again. I took a breath and licked my lips nervously. Just what _did_ she want with me?

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, trying to sound submissive. If she really was the one who'd sent the box, then the last thing I wanted to do was make her mad. There was a chance – albeit a very slim one – if she had indeed sent the box and if I didn't end up infuriating her, that I could maybe persuade her to send me back home. That, of course, depended on Madame Vastra not wanting to kill or experiment on me.

I forcibly swallowed the hard lump that was forming in my throat and pushed back my rapidly mounting anxiety. I was going to have to be very careful here.

"Good," Madame Vastra said in reply, relaxing her rigid posture somewhat. "I believe you said there was a fine to be paid, Inspector Thompson?" Madame Vastra questioned.

"Ah, yes," the Inspector replied. "However, seeing as Lady Godiva is your niece, I think we can waive that fine. I'm confident in your ability to educate her in proper etiquette," he continued graciously.

"Thank you for your confidence," Madame Vastra said with a polite nod. "But I must insist on paying the fine. My niece needs to learn that actions have consequences. When we return home, I will be extracting the exact amount I have paid from her _personal fund_."

"Of course."

The Inspector gestured, and the warden, who until now had been standing off to the side and simply observing the exchange between myself, Madame Vastra, and the Inspector, stepped forward and unlocked my cell door.

"Come, Godiva," Madame Vastra commanded, lowering her veil and holding one hand out impatiently.

Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard once more, I hesitantly walked towards her. Once I was within reach, Madame Vashtra seized my wrist in a vice-like grip and marched me out to the front of the building.

She paused in front of the central hallway, just before the doors of the prison.

"I will be with you to pay the fine momentarily, Inspector," Madame Vashtra said, turning back briefly to address him. She then pulled me out the door and towards a waiting carriage. A young brunette dressed in a navy blue gown similar to Madame Vastra's stood next to a nondescript black carriage. Nothing about it stood out; it looked almost identical to every other carriage I'd seen thus far. Spokes on its four wheels and pulled by a single bay horse.

It was the driver that caught my eye, and it wasn't because he was attractive. He appeared to be short, though it was hard to tell exactly how short with him sitting up in the driver's seat. He was bald, with a head disproportionally large for his body, and his neck was so thick that it was practically indistinguishable from his head. It actually made his head look even bigger, if that were possible. His skin was an odd color, though it was not nearly as strange as Madame Vastra's. It was a dull, tannish brown, and fortunately was smooth and decidedly _not_ scaly. He wore a simple black suit and boots, which contrasted sharply with his odd build. I even saw that he had three fat fingers on each hand instead of five. It might have been a birth defect of some sort, but maybe he was an alien too. Not that I knew for sure whether even Madame Vastra was an alien.

The driver turned his entire upper body towards us as Madame Vastra walked briskly towards the carriage with me in tow. She took hold of the carriage door handle with her free hand and pulled it open. She let go of my wrist and gestured me inside. Briefly, I considered running right then and there, but I'd be caught again within seconds and might miss my only chance to get this mess straightened out. So, without any other option really, I climbed obediently into the carriage.

"You will remain here until I am finished with the Inspector," Madame Vashtra instructed. "Jenny," she continued, turning to the brunette. "Make sure that she doesn't run off again."

"Yes, ma'am," the brown-haired woman – Jenny, presumably – replied, curtsying and then climbing up into the carriage after me.

Madame Vastra shut the door as soon as Jenny was inside and walked back into the police station. Jenny sat down across from me. I watched her nervously out of the corner of my eye. What were they planning to do with me, now that they had me?

Rather than focus on the new, potentially more dangerous situation I found myself in, I tried to simply take in the details of the carriage interior. There wasn't much for me to look at, though. The seats were made of black leather with some kind of cushion beneath it. They were actually quite comfortable to sit in. The seat backs, part of the wall of the carriage, were also covered with leather, though riddled with buttons organized in a diamond pattern to help hold the padding in place. There were windows on either side of me. Both of them had shades colored a pale tan and with light green tassels attached to their ends. The floor – what little of it there was between the seats, anyway – was simply painted wood.

"Are you all right?" Jenny asked after the silence had stretched on for a few minutes. Her voice was much smoother than Madame Vastra's, and she had a slight lisp. When I dared to take a glance at her face, I noted that she looked concerned and just a touch confused.

Wringing my hands anxiously, I decided that there was no point in lying no matter what their motive was and just shook my head in response.

"Well, it's gonna be okay, all right?" Jenny tried to assure. "Madame Vastra and I are friends. We're not gonna hurt you." She leaned forward and put one of her hands on my knee in a comforting manner. "Okay?"

I desperately wanted to release some of my tension as I looked into Jenny's open and honest expression, but I couldn't. She certainly seemed to be genuine. However, my anxiety kept whispering that she could very well be faking it. After all, she _was_ with Madame Vastra. In the end, I shifted my legs away from her and wrapped my arms around middle, opting to stay quiet.

Jenny looked troubled by my lack of response, but before she could say some other variation of a comforting phrase, Madame Vastra opened the door and stepped into the carriage. Almost as soon as she shut the door, I heard the driver's muffled call to the horse, and the carriage started rolling forward.

"Now that that little incident has been taken care of, we can get down to business," Madame Vastra said, shifting slightly next to me so that she could see both me and Jenny reasonably well.

Looking at both of them anxiously as the carriage moved forward, I tried to decide what I should do. Not that there was really all that much I could do with Madame Vastra sitting next to me and Jenny across from me. Any attempt to run or throw myself out of the carriage would be stopped before I could even start the motion. Just that thought alone was enough to put me on the edge of a second panic attack. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, to get away from this present danger to my person, but I was trapped. Knowing that – that there was no way to escape from this supposed danger and therefore no way to release my growing fear – was making it extremely difficult to think clearly.

Taking an admittedly shaky deep breath, I reminded myself of the thought I'd had in the prison cell when I'd first saw Madame Vastra. She might very well be the one who'd sent that stupid blue box in the first place, meaning that she was potentially the only one who could help me get back home. Which meant that no matter how scared I was of her, I _needed_ her help, and if I didn't dare to ask for it, I for sure wasn't going to get it. I had to explain my situation as best I could even though I wasn't sure that I could trust Madame Vastra or Jenny. It might be the only chance I got.

"Look," I began, licking my lips and trying valiantly to keep at least my voice steady. "There's been some sort of mistake. I'm _not_ your niece. I've never met you before in my life. And my name is _not_ Godiva. It's _Natasha._ "

"Of course you're not my niece. You look absolutely nothing like her," Madame Vastra said matter-of-factly. "I only said that you were to get you out of that prison cell without arousing a great deal of suspicion."

"Oh. Um… thank you?" I said uncertainly, completely caught off-guard.

"You're quite welcome," Madame Vastra replied. "Now, I must know. Where is the Doctor? I have not seen him in the area, and there have been no reports of him in the men's prisons."

I frowned and cocked my head in confusion, looking across the carriage at Jenny, and didn't answer.

 _Doctor? What doctor?_ I thought. _This day is making less and less sense as it goes on._

There was a pause.

"What are you talking about?" I asked finally, giving up on trying to figure it out myself.

"The man who brought you here?" Jenny supplied unhelpfully.

"No one brought me here," I said, looking apprehensively back at Madame Vastra. "I'm alone."

Madame Vastra drew her head back in mild surprise, letting out a brief sound that resembled a snake-like hiss.

"But… You came in the TARDIS, didn't you?" Jenny asked, sounding confused. "We found it in an alley off Adams Street."

"What's a tardis?" I countered, feeling equally confused. This was not at all going like I thought it would.

Jenny's jaw dropped and she shot a disbelieving look at Madame Vastra.

Madame Vastra looked from Jenny back to me and took a deep breath.

"The TARDIS," she began patiently. "disguises itself as a large wooden blue box. A Police Public Call Box, specifically. In actuality, it is a trans-dimensional alien ship."

So, it seemed as though Madame Vastra hadn't sent the box, but she _did_ know what it was. She and Jenny both, it seemed.

"It's bigger on the inside," I said, nodding. "Yeah, I know what you're talking about."

"So you _did_ come in the TARDIS?" Jenny asked to confirm.

"Yeah, I guess. If that's what that box is called," I replied.

"But you said you were alone?" Madame Vastra said.

"Yeah, that's right."

She and Jenny exchanged a worried look.

"How exactly did this happen?" Madame Vastra asked.

I then proceeded to tell them everything that had happened to me thus far today, starting with finding the blue box (the "Tardis," apparently) and continuing right up to where I'd first seen Madame Vastra back at the prison.

"But there was no sign of the Doctor when you went looking around on the TARDIS?" Madame Vastra asked when I finished.

"I didn't really see signs of _anyone_ living in there," I replied. "Although I didn't have all that much time to look around before the ship landed…" I hesitated. "here."

Madame Vastra's gaze sharpened. She turned her head to give Jenny a significant look.

"You don't know where you are?" Jenny questioned.

"Um… England somewhere?" I guessed, making a vague gesture with my hands. "I'm pretty sure about that. At least, that's what the Inspector told me."

"I'm afraid you're in for a shock. You _are_ in England," Madame Vastra confirmed. "In London.

"And the year is 1890."


	6. Explanations

**AN: Sorry it took so long to update. Unfortunately, as a full time vet tech, I can't promise that there will be regular updates in the future either. But I will see this story through to the end!  
**

* * *

"What?" I said after a moment's pause. "1890?" I shook my head in denial. "You're kidding. I mean, you can't really expect me to believe that."

Neither woman responded.

Madame Vastra looked deadly serious beneath her veil, and Jenny watched me solemnly, though her expression did contain a hint of sympathy as well.

"You _can't_ be serious," I said.

Again, silence reigned in the carriage after I spoke.

"But… but that's…" I stammered, feeling like the world was suddenly falling out from under my feet. Again. "That's impossible!" I exclaimed. "Time travel is science-fiction stuff like in Back to the Future! It's not real! It can't be real…"

Granted, until about two hours ago, aliens and alien spaceships were science-fiction too. If time travel _was_ possible…

No. No, I couldn't believe that. I just couldn't.

Although, it would explain a _lot._ I would have no cell phone reception because they hadn't been invented yet. The presence of horses and carriages would be because cars wouldn't have been invented yet either. Neither would asphalt. Ergo, no paved roads. Nor would women begin to wear jeans and t-shirts for some decades yet. I didn't think that they wore any kind of pants at all until at least the 1900's; just dresses, and possibly corsets, along with that weird frilly underwear. I'd seen some examples of it in museums, and – thinking back on it – it was actually more concealing that what I was wearing right now. If this really was 1890, then they _would_ have seen me as basically running around naked. Hence, getting detained for streaking despite wearing clothes.

I had to admit that it made a disturbing amount of sense.

But I just _couldn't_ accept it.

First, I was kidnapped by aliens. Then there were no aliens on board and I was kidnapped by an empty spaceship and then dumped in somewhere in England. _Then_ I was arrested and thrown in prison. And now I was supposed to believe that I had not only left my neighborhood, city, state, and country behind, but also my _time period_?

No. Just no. Everything in me rebelled against the idea. I couldn't handle it.

"While you may certainly find time travel improbable," Madame Vastra said, heedless to my inner turmoil. "I assure you that it is _not_ , in fact, impossible."

"No," I insisted, determined. "No. Time travel _isn't real._ "

"And why not?" Madame Vastra challenged.

"Well… because…" I started, scrambling to come up with a rational explanation. There had to be one, but my mind had gone blank, which is what usually happened when I was put on the spot. I looked up at the ceiling of the carriage, not really seeing it as I wracked my brain.

Then inspiration suddenly struck.

"You said that the Tardis/thing was an alien spaceship, right? Not a time machine," I said, immediately feeling relieved at finding a reason for the impossibility of _my_ having time traveled, if not for time travel in general. "Even if time travel _were_ real, you would need some sort of 'time machine' in order to travel back in time. Because that blue box _isn't_ a time machine, I _can't_ have traveled back in time, and this can't possibly be 1890," I finished, feeling fairly confident in my reasoning.

Madame Vastra leaned slightly towards me, looking me straight in the eye as she spoke.

"Wrong," she said bluntly. "The TARDIS is no ordinary vessel. It is capable of traveling in both space _and_ time. It even indicated in the ship's name. 'TARDIS' is an acronym. It stands for _Time_ And Relative Dimension In Space."

What small amount of confidence I had gathered evaporated like a puddle in the desert at Madame Vastra's words.

"How do I know you're not just making this up?" I asked, even though I knew that I was grasping at straws. I had already realized that time travel brought some sense to what I had thought was a senseless situation, but I had been through so much already today that I was simply incapable of dealing with any more surprises.

I just wanted it to stop.

I wanted to go home and pretend that this never happened. Or better yet, have it all be an elaborate dream that I could just wake up from.

"Do you really believe that?" Madame Vastra asked evenly. The question felt like a challenge.

I swallowed hard, finding myself unable to break eye-contact with the lizard-woman.

After a moment, I sighed in defeat and looked away.

"No."

With that admission, I lowered my head and turned away from Madame Vastra and Jenny.

Time travel was real. _Time travel_ was _real._ I couldn't quite wrap my head around it, let alone come to terms with the fact that _I_ had time traveled. And it wasn't just some quick little jaunt back to the week before. No, I had traveled over one hundred years back into the past. Not by choice, of course, but still. Of course, that meant that my parents hadn't even been _born_ yet. Heck, my _grandparents_ probably hadn't been born yet either. I might be able to track down some great-grandparents of mine, not that it would do me much good because they wouldn't know who I was because _I_ wouldn't be born for another…

I squinted as I did the math as best I could in my head.

One hundred and three years. It would be one hundred and three years before I was born. Just thinking about the fact that I was somehow present in London in 1890 before even my parents existed on planet earth was enough to twist my thoughts into knots. I could feel a headache coming on as I struggled to process it.

"What year are you from?" Madame Vastra asked.

"What?" I said, train of thought brought abruptly to a halt.

"Well, judging by your clothing, I'd guess that you were from the early twenty-first century," Madame Vastra elaborated.

I glanced down at my jacket in puzzlement, not fully following her.

After another brief period of silence, Jenny spoke up.

"What was the date?" she asked. "You told us where you found the TARDIS, but not when."

"Oh. Um. It was May…" I struggled to remember the exact date. "Um, May 14th, 2010."

Madame Vastra nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer.

I turned to look out the window but didn't really see much of the scenery. My mind had gone back to the baffling concept of time travel and how exactly it affected my current situation.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. I wouldn't be born for another one hundred years. My parents hadn't been born and neither had my grandparents. I had no connections here and no friends that I could ask to help me. And, as far as I knew, I had no way to get back home. Sure, I could go to America by boat, and maybe take a steam engine to Missouri, but my house wouldn't be there. I might not be in prison anymore, but I was still trapped.

A lump formed in my throat at the thought, and suddenly the emotional aspect of this newest piece of information seemed to crash into me with all the force of a freight train. My breathing hitched, and I struggled to hold back another emotional breakdown. I couldn't stop my tears, but I did manage to keep from sobbing. My breathing was uneven as I cried as silently as I could. All thought fled from my mind as I sought to mentally disconnect from reality. I could _not_ deal with this right now. I had mentally and emotionally reached my limit, and had consequently shut down completely.

Madame Vastra did not speak again during the carriage ride. As much as I wished that a fog would settle between me and my physical surroundings, my anxiety would not allow it. Instead, I remained in a hyper-alert state, painfully aware that I wasn't alone; that I wasn't _safe_. I heard the slight shifting sound as the fabric of Madame Vastra and Jenny's dresses rubbed against the leather every time they changed positions. I could count the hoofbeats of the horse pulling the carriage. And yet, there was still a haze around my thoughts. As my tears eventually slowed and I entered a state of numbness once again, it thickened. However, this lack of thought did not make me unaware of my environment. I just passively absorbed the information that my senses collected about it, not really processing it.

As the carriage rolled to a halt at last, Jenny took my arm and led me out of the carriage and into a very nice looking townhouse. Warmth gently penetrated my damp clothes as I was guided though the entryway and into a bright room. Jenny showed me over to a wicker chair. I sat down silently and stared at the floor, numb and remote. Which, honestly, the numbness was a welcome relief after spending so much time fighting back the intense emotions of terror and despair.

"Here," a male voice said, catching my attention and jumpstarting my thought process.

A cup containing either coffee or tea set on a small saucer with an accompanying spoon was held out to me, just inches from my hands. Wordlessly, I took it. Taking a slow breath, I sat up a little straighter, looking to my left to see the odd carriage driver standing next to me. I couldn't quite read his expression. Though now that he was standing right beside me, I could tell that he was about the same height I was; maybe just an inch or two shorter.

"It's tea," he said in a strange accent that I couldn't quite place. His words were clipped and spoken quickly, like he couldn't get them out of his mouth fast enough. "It will make you feel better."

I looked down at my cup uncertainly.

"You mustn't worry, my boy," the driver continued. I looked up in confusion at being called a boy. "I have ensured that the tea is not poisoned." He paused briefly before continuing. "And though the odds are four million three hundred and seventy thousand to one, we shall do our very best to return you to your time and place of origin."

If he was trying to be comforting, he wasn't doing a very good job.

"Thanks," I said out of obligation more than genuine gratitude.

"You're welcome. Now drink your tea."

Letting out a soft sigh, I did as I was told, taking a tentative sip of the brown liquid. I wasn't much of a tea drinker, even though my mother was. The only time I normally did drink tea was when I was sick and had a sore throat. This tea didn't taste all that bad, but it wasn't anything spectacular. It was somewhat bitter as well. I set the cup back down on the saucer with a soft clink. Raising my gaze from the cup and saucer, I looked around the room that I had been brought into while my mind worked itself back up to normal speed.

I was surprised to see a great many tropical plants. England didn't have the right climate for them, yet here they were, and they seemed to be flourishing too. There were fronds, flowers, and even a few palms throughout the room. The ceiling was glass, and there were large windows to my right, giving the room a sort of greenhouse-type feel. The warm temperature in here added to that. It was almost hot, though I had to confess that it was much nicer than the temperature in my prison cell. The walls, what little I could see of them anyway, were painted white, and seemed to be carved to some degree. Statues were placed in aesthetic locations around the area, with flowers highlighting their positions. Polished marble tiles for flooring completed the room, giving it a picturesque, well-maintained atmosphere.

Madame Vastra and Jenny sat across from me on two white wicker chairs that were identical to the one that I was sitting in. Like me, they both held cups of tea on small saucers. I had trouble telling what Madame Vastra's expression indicated, but Jenny looked slightly concerned. Between me and the two women watching me was a small coffee table with a tea tray on it. Though, maybe it would be called a tea table in England. I wasn't sure.

"I am sure you have questions," Madame Vastra stated when my gaze fell on her again.

I looked back down at my cup.

After a pause, I nodded wordlessly, taking another sip of tea.

"We're here to help you, miss," Jenny said encouragingly. "You don't have to be scared of us."

Madame Vastra offered no such encouragement, verbal or nonverbal.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the possibility of unpleasant answers.

"Who are you guys, exactly?" I asked.

"I am Vastra. This is my wife, Jenny, and that," Vastra said, pointing to the driver still standing next to me. "is Strax."

Strax gave a stiff sort of half-bow.

"Okay. Um, _what_ ," I ducked my head in a mild flinch at the frankness of the question. "are you?"

"I am a member of the species _Homo reptilia,_ " Vastra began, undisturbed by my bold query. "a highly intelligent, cold-blooded, reptilian race of people that inhabited this planet centuries upon centuries before humans evolved, during the age of the dinosaurs. We called ourselves Silurians. My people were the first sentient race to inhabit this planet, but we were forced to retreat underground when our technology detected an enormous asteroid on a collision course with Earth. All Silurians, aside from myself, still sleep there now," Madame Vastra stated matter-of-factly.

I nodded in acknowledgment, but said nothing.

"Jenny, as you have no doubt already surmised, is human and native to this area."

"Well, I didn't grow up in London," Jenny interjected. "But I was born in England in this specific time period. Unlike Madame Vastra or Strax."

Madame Vastra nodded in confirmation of this statement.

"Strax is not human, nor is he from Earth," Vastra continued. "He is a Sontaran, and Sontarans from the moment they first open their eyes are taught of nothing but war. They are a strictly militant people. A race of composed entirely of soldiers."

"Even the women?" I asked on impulse, glancing up at Strax.

"What women?" Strax responded.

"Sontarans are grown in large clone batches," Vastra answered. "They only have one gender."

"Oh," I said. Well, I guess that explained why he'd thought I was a boy, then.

However, Strax was an alien. A real, breathing, living _alien_.

And he was still standing next to me.

I subtly shifted my position in the chair so that I was sitting as far away from him as possible.

Looking back over at Strax, I took in his odd skin tone, head shape and six fat fingers again. I wouldn't have pictured aliens looking like him. Or only having one gender. I actually don't know what I _would_ have expected aliens to look like, but whatever I might have imagined, they definitely wouldn't have resembled… potatoes. That was the closest comparison I could make to something familiar when I considered Strax's appearance anyway.

I looked back down, took a deep breath, and drank a little more tea, resolving to try to not to think too hard about the alien standing next to my chair.

"Sontarans as a general rule may go looking for war wherever they can find it, but Strax does not. Although a good brawl never fails to excite him," Vastra stated, seeming to notice my unease. I took another deep breath, consciously relaxing at her implication that Strax wasn't going to hurt me.

"And so Jenny is your… wife," I said, changing the subject to distract myself.

"Yes," Vastra confirmed proudly, giving Jenny a clearly affectionate look.

"Right. I thought she might have been your maid?" I continued, trailing off uncertainly.

"That is merely a pretense that we allow the public to believe," Vastra said.

Jenny scoffed. "It's supposed to be, anyway," she said, taking a sip of tea.

Vastra looked at her, seeming surprised by the statement.

"Whatever do you mean, my dear?" she asked.

"Well, I don't ever see you pouring the tea, cleaning the rooms, looking after the horses or escorting visitors into the sitting room," Jenny protested.

I had the distinct feeling that this was an argument that had been had many times before.

"Well, I certainly could never pour tea as beautifully as you do," Vastra countered. "It is an art form that I could never hope to master to the degree that you have."

Jenny rolled her eyes, but she wore a small, amused smile.

I cleared my throat meaningfully before Vastra could respond, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the fact that the two women were dangerously close to outright flirting in front of me.

Deliberately shoving aside my discomfort and mentally backtracking, I went over everything that Vastra and Jenny had told me thus far. So, an alien, a non-human Earthling, and a young woman all lived in London, England in the late 1800's. It honestly sounded like the start of a bad joke. Or maybe the beginning of one of the more bizarre fairy tales I'd read. Either way, I was having a bit trouble wrapping my head around legitimacy of it. This new knowledge on top of time travel just made my situation seem all that more surreal.

"So, um, Madame Vastra, you're a detective, right?" I asked, thinking back on what the warden had said about her earlier.

"Correct," Vastra answered, turning her attention back to me. "though I am not officially affiliated with the police. Jenny and Strax often assist in my investigations. We specialize in strange, often unexplainable events."

 _Right,_ I thought. _I remember Inspector Thompson telling me that._

"So you're like Sherlock Holmes. Sort of," I said.

"To a certain extent, yes," Vastra answered with a small smile.

I nodded, falling silent for a few moments to think.

"Why do you want to help me?" I finally dared to ask.

"Because you need help," was her simple reply.

"Really?" I said doubtfully. "That's it?"

"That's it," Vastra said. "Any companion, friend, or acquaintance of the Doctor's is a friend of ours, and as you came with the TARDIS, that includes you."

"Okay," I said. "but who _is_ this doctor? And what does he have to do with the blue box? Or me for that matter?"

Vastra and Jenny exchanged a glance, and there was a long pause.

"The man we speak of is not just any doctor," she stated at last. "He is _the_ Doctor, perhaps the person from whom the word 'doctor' itself originated."

Vastra paused once more. It was almost like she herself was struggling with how to explain who this person was.

"As for the TARDIS," she said at length. "it is the Doctor's vessel."

"So it's his ship? He sent it?" I said quickly. "What does he want with me?"

Vastra and Jenny exchanged an uncertain look, and I suddenly realized that they didn't have a clue as to why I was here either.

 _Well that's reassuring,_ I thought sarcastically.

"You, um… You do know him, right?"

Vastra nodded. "The Doctor is a friend."

She didn't elaborate beyond that.


End file.
